


habits are hard to break (when you don't want to)

by carolion



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Objectification, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolion/pseuds/carolion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night before the draft, and Nate MacKinnon can't sleep because he's too busy thinking about Jo's <i>mouth</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	habits are hard to break (when you don't want to)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. Also I yelled a lot when I realized Nate is still seventeen and therefore this had to be tagged underage. Enjoy.

It's not like Nate thinks about Jo all the time when he jerks off--

Wait. No. Go back. When he puts it like that, it seems like he thinks about Jo a _lot_ when he jerks off, just maybe not all the time. And that's a gross misrepresentation of Nathan's jerking off fantasies because he's seventeen and horny practically all the time, and sometimes he can rub one out while thinking about Kraft Dinner.

So percentage wise, Jo features in about 25% of Nate's spank bank material. Okay maybe 30%. Okay closer to 40%. Definitely no more than 65% of Nate's orgasms are directly linked to thinking about Jonathan Drouin though, and it's only that high because they're together all the time, and who else is Nate going to think about? Zach? Fuck no. 

But Nate can't really help it when it feels like Jo is constantly flirting with him. Whenever they're close enough to touch Jo is there, reaching out to touch him, a little press of his fingertips to the inside of Nate's wrist, or pushing up next to him to knock their shoulders together. He's shorter than Nate, and hunches in on himself, and it feels like whenever they talk Jo is staring up at him from below his stupidly pretty lashes, his eyes wide and guileless as he blinks, slow and measured up into Nate's face. And then there's his mouth. Jo must have some kind of oral fixation, the way he's always chewing on his lips, or a pen cap, or his mouth guard. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth when he's thinking hard, hooking his front teeth in front and it's not really hot - he sort of looks like a chipmunk or something like that - but every single time it's enough to get Nate sporting wood, completely zeroed in on Jo's mouth. Even the way Jo smiles, flashing his snaggletooth to the world with a little quirk of the corners of his mouth makes Nate ache. 

He wants to trace that smile with the head of his dick. He wants to push his cock in past his red lips and fuck his soft, plush mouth until he's coming down the back of Jo's throat. He wants to watch Jo struggle, squirming on his knees, to suck air in through his nostrils, wants to watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows down Nate's come and feel the vibrations of his moans through his cock. 

He turns over in his bed, reaching down into his sweat pants to grip his cock tightly - a little too tight, to stave the throb of arousal off - and grits his teeth. It's literally the night before the draft and tomorrow is going to be one of the biggest days of his career - of his _life_ \- and the thing that he can't stop thinking about is Jonathan Drouin's mouth. 

He could think about Jo's hockey highlight reel instead, but as his cock jumps enthusiastically in his hand, he remembers that he finds watching Jo stick handle almost hotter than anything else in the world.

He groans, and closes his eyes, thinking about how great it would be to get Jo on his knees for Nate, and fuck his mouth until it was a little bruised and puffy. Used. To get him drooling as he tries to suck around the girth of Nate's dick, spit dripping down his chin sloppily. 

He can't help but stick his hand in his sleep pants then and start stroking, bringing his left arm across his face so he can bite into his bicep. He's so hard it feels like any shift of the sheets could make him come, and he doesn't want to wake his roommate up to an extremely awkward situation. Or maybe his roommate is still up, worrying about tomorrow, but probably _not_ having weird, gay fantasies about his teammates and beating off beneath the covers. Nate hesitates, loosening his grip on his cock in one guilty flash - but his mind instantly supplies him with the image of Jo on all fours, kissing at his inner thigh and licking at his balls and he has to bite hard enough on his bicep to muffle his groan that he leaves teeth marks. 

Fuck, whatever, he thinks to himself as he starts jerking off again, he'll be as quiet as he can be. 

Occasionally Nate feels bad about objectifying his teammate - his friend, really - but he spends enough time driving Jo around and buying him sushi and carrying a weird, warm feeling in his chest all day every time he looks at him or hears him laugh so he figures he's allowed these few weak moments. 

He lets out a shuddering sigh and closes his eyes, hand gripping tight at his erection as he rocks up in his fist. Fucking his hand dry isn't the best idea he's ever had, but Nate can honestly say he didn't pack lube for his trip _to the draft_ , and he's not about to get up and take a midnight shower just to slick the way a little bit. This is hardly the worst case scenario for masturbation, and Nate's on enough of a hair trigger for that to be too much of an issue any way. He feels like he's riding that edge of coming, feels like he's been there for ages already. 

His imagination flickers between ideas of Jo on his knees, smiling sleazily up at Nate and licking his lips, and Jo on his back, neck bares and hand on his own cock, groaning and coming across the flat plane of his stomach. He can fill in the audio easily, can hear Jo's breathy, low sounds of pleasure, little soundbites stored in his memory from sharing space too often, getting to hear taboo things like line mates jerking off. He wonders if Jo ever heard him getting off, if Jo ever thinks of Nate like his, forearm tense and getting sore as he pulls faster and faster, hips rocking to keep the pace blistering, if Jo ever blushed and got hard and touched himself at the same time, if maybe they ever accidentally came together, at the same time, just from listening to each other come--

Nate buries his face in his arm and whines, reaching the crest of his orgasm and coming jerkily onto his own hand, pretending he was coming all over Jo's face, imagining the little wrinkle he would get between his eyebrows as he scrunched up his face, mouth pouting and eyes clenched shut. It's ridiculous, but it feels like another punch of pleasure to Nate's gut, that he can see it _so clearly_ , the exact face that Jo would pull, the little embarrassed and annoyed noise he would make, covered in jizz. Nate's dick twitches and he's still leaking, still coming a bit as the high peaks of pleasure begin to fade from where it had swamped through him. 

By the time he gets his asscheeks to unclench and his breathing back to normal, Nate is left with the vague satisfaction that a really fucking good nut gives a horny young man, and a fistful of wet spunk. He's finally feeling tired - another effect of orgasms - and can't be bothered to get up to go to the bathroom. Mentally he apologizes to his mother, and yanks his t-shirt up over his head to carefully wipe his hand on, before he balls the shirt up in a tight wad and chucks it over at his suitcase. He'll have to remember to do this trip's laundry himself, or spend an awkward few days avoiding his mom. 

Nate yawns and rolls over, feeling sleepy and satisfied as he flips his pillow to the cooler side. Tomorrow is still Draft Day, and someone new is going to own the rights to his hockey career, and a million different media sources are going to be asking a million different versions of the same questions, and he's still going to see Jo tomorrow and try to pretend he didn't spend tonight thinking about fucking his mouth raw. 

It sucks that Jo is so good at hockey, Nate thinks as he's starting to drift. There's almost no way they'll be drafted to the same team. Nate wonders if he'll still think about Jo when he masturbates if they're miles or even states apart.

Probably, he decides - not unhappily - as he finally drops off into sleep.


End file.
